by Nero Seal
PRESENTED BY
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Iblīs’ Affliction is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Emma Jaye
https://www.emmajayeauthor.com/
www.sublimenovels.com
Cover design:
www.sublimenovels.com
Copyright © 2020 by Nero Seal
http://neroseal.com/
[email protected]
Iblīs’ Affliction contains explicit sexual scenes between men, strong language, dubious permission, scenes of gore, violence, murder, cheating, drug usage, and is intended for adult readers only. Iblīs’ Affliction isn’t for people with weak hearts or who are easily offended or shocked.
To my adorable friend Azur, without whom this book would have never been written. Thank you for your insight into Turkish mentality, religion, and language. You are amazing!
To the Queen of Angst and my kickass editor Emma Jaye, who did the immense work of repairing my raped and mutilated grammar. Thank you for all your comments and smart-ass remarks that cracked me up.
To my lovely niece Tida, who is, in these hard times, fighting COVID-19. You are my superhero!
To Janet who loves me, hates me, loves me, hates me, but still loves me. #MioWillRuleTheWorld. I LOVE YOU!!!
To my Kickass Bodyguard Stina, who supported Emma in hating the rimming scene, so thanks to them none of you will read it.
To my talented friend Ash Knight, who has showed me nothing but support.
To Millicent, who isn’t afraid to speak her mind. I always enjoy working with you.
To the adorable baby-panda Tessie and the lil jellybean who lives inside you. I pray he or she will never read this book. XD
To the awesome Susan, who always provides the best and deepest input. Thank you for always helping me!
To the amazing Debbie who has the eye of an eagle for all kinds of holes.
To Karen, who is always there to provide in-depth input and make the story better.
To Tay, who has the biggest heart of a unicorn and unconditional love for everyone.
And to all the members of my group Nero’s Seals who supported, loved, spoiled, and kicked my ass!
Without you all, I would never be where I am now. Thank you so much for making my life bright. I love you! <3
GLOSSARY
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
EPILOGUE
ABOUT NERO SEAL
ALSO BY NERO SEAL
Iblīs (Arabic إبليس)—the primary devil in Islam.
“If you sleep with the Devil,
don’t expect to get out of hell.”
DEMANDING. NEEDY. DANGEROUS. Slater is everything Talha doesn’t want but everything the crime lord needs. The bloodiest ripper of Anatolia, nicknamed Iblīs, kills for him and warms his bed. Stuck in a power play and a loveless, symbiotic relationship, Talha knows that if he shows weakness, he will fall at the hand of his own weapon.
THIRST FOR BLOOD, SEX, AND PAIN. It drives Slater crazy. Only Talha can soothe the deep ache that grows stronger every day. Slater allows Master to think he is in charge until Talha cheats by changing the rules of their game. But Master doesn’t grasp that there’s no escape from Iblīs’ affliction.
Iblīs—in the Quran Iblīs is described as the fallen jinn made of a smokeless fire and often is identified as Satan in the Christian Bible.
Minik kuş—little bird. (Turk.)
Abi—older brother. (Turk.)
Kardeşim—younger sibling. (Turk.)
Geri çekil, köpek—back off, dog! (Turk.)
Hanımım /Hanım—a female royal and aristocratic title / Mistress. (Turk.)
Defol—go away. (Turk.)
Reis—Master/Leader. (Turk.)
Kilim—a flat tapestry-woven carpet or rug.
Imam – a title of a worship leader of a mosque and Muslim community.
Orospu çocuğu—son of a bitch (Turk.)
Bey—Mister. (Turk.)
Allahismarladik—Allah greets you. (Turk.) Being said as a good bye.
Güle-güle—Bye-bye. (Turk.)
Bismillah—"In the name of God"; it is the first word in the Quran being said as a word of protection from evil. (Arabic)
Abaya—a simple, loose over-garment, essentially a robe-like dress, worn by some women in parts of the Muslim world.
Hijab —a headscarf worn by some Muslim women.
Mashrabiya—is an architectural element which is characteristic of Arabic residences. It is a type of projecting oriel window enclosed with carved wood latticework located on the second story of a building or higher, often lined with stained glass.
Ağam için—for Master. (Turk)
Agha—an honorific title for a civilian or military officer, or often part of such title, and was placed after the name of certain civilian or military functionaries in the Ottoman Empire. At the same time some court functionaries were entitled to the agha title. In Kurdistan the tribal Kurdish society gives the title "agha" to tribal chieftains - either supreme chieftains or village heads. It is also given to wealthy landlords and owners of major real estate in the urban Kurdish centers.
Ifrīt—a powerful type of demon in Islamic mythology.
Bedlah—the belly dancer suit.
Mardin'in Piçi—Mardin’s bastard. (Turk.)
Walī—an Arabic word meaning "custodian", "protector", "helper", "a man close to God", or "holy man". Wali is someone who has "Walayah" (authority or guardianship) over somebody else.
The Fajr prayer—the first of the 5 daily prayers
Selamün aleyküm—a greeting in Arabic that means "Peace be upon you".
The Shahada—the basic statement of the Islamic faith: "There is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is his messenger."
The Golden Crescent—the name given to one of Asia's two principal areas of illicit opium production.
THE NOTHINGNESS SHATTERED with the booming of heavy footsteps. The familiar scent of bitter almond and leather wafted through the air. It was about time as Slater’s hands and legs shook with pressure. His blood circulation slowed causing his limbs to go numb. A bit longer and he would have collapsed.
Every muscle shrieked in agony as he kneeled on the cold floor with his hands cuffed behind his back. The chain hanging from the evil hook in the ceiling barely reached his shoulder blades. The cuffs attached to the chain forced his arms up into an uncomfortable, strained position. He would have stood up to alleviate the pressure, but the shackles securing his ankles connected to his neck. With every move of his spine, the titan prong collar dug deeper into his throat.
“You are drooling…” Talha spoke in English. His low, h
usky voice with a heavy eastern accent engulfed Slater. The captive stilled, sensing the air shift. A hot palm brushed against his wet chin. Another hand fisted his hair and pulled backward. Slater’s spine vibrated with pressure as he arched his back. He almost whimpered when a buckle at his nape released, relieving the pain in his jaw. With a sluggish movement of his tongue, he tongued the ball-gag out of his mouth and tried to swallow, but the saliva flood only increased. Cold and sticky, it dripped down his chin.
A few bracing slaps brought his attention to his burning cheeks and his master.
“I have a job for you,” Talha stated in an emotionless voice. “Bite.”
A smell of glue preceded the roughness of paper, and a fat envelope shoved into his mouth.
“Hold.”
Slater squeezed his teeth, and a few drops of sweat skidded down his cheeks from under the leather blindfold. His jaw shook.
Talha tugged the hook, twisting Slater’s arms up even more before he released the hold. Sharp prongs bit deep into Slater’s neck, pushing a groan out of his throat. Doing his best not to drop the envelope, he arched his back, anticipating his master’s hand over his cold skin. After isolation, they always felt so warm, so good.
CLICK. The carabiner connecting his neck to his ankles came undone. Slater smiled, then rolled his shoulders easing the tension. Left then right, he cracked his neck trying to keep his balance. Every muscle in his body responded with the lingering pain of relaxation and prickles of rushing blood. His shackles clanged against the floor, stripping his weakened hands of support. Two doll-like limbs fell forward and hit the coarse concrete. Heavy and unresponsive, they felt alien to his aching body.
He straightened and leaned forward, brushing his face against his master’s knee in an attempt to lift the blindfold that stuck to his eyes. The leather gave in, and cool air hit his heated skin. He blinked the salt off, making out the soft light leaking through the basement door and his master’s masculine frame towering above him.
The paper envelope soaked with his saliva, dissolved in his mouth. Revolted, he leaned forward and dropped it to the floor.
“Thank you, Master,” Slater’s voice came out hoarse. Grinning, he inched forward and brushed his barely responsive tongue against Talha’s shoe. A wet trail marred perfectly polished leather.
“You are gross…” Talha said. The shoe disappeared from under Slater’s cheek, and acute pain blossomed as a heavy sole crushed down on his spine from above. “Clean yourself; you stink. We leave in two hours.”
SITTING IN A PRIVATE JET, Slater stretched his long legs over the black carpet. The gummy bear bag in his hands was half-empty, but he kept sending one candy after another into his mouth, enjoying the rich, juicy flavor spreading over his tongue. He moved his leg; the toe of his shoe touched Talha’s ankle, slid up his beige cotton pants, reached his thigh, then moved over it. Engrossed in reading a paper, Talha slapped Slater’s foot away, then brushed non-existent dust off his pants.
Displeasure twitched in Slater’s chest as having been swatted like an annoying fly. Shaking the irritation off, he sent another gummy bear into his mouth, then picked up the brown envelope and flipped it upside down. A pile of pictures scattered over the small wooden table separating him from Talha. Licking the lingering sweetness off his fingers, he snatched the top one.
A broad man in a business suit with a beer belly and an ugly, fat mole on his upper lip stared somewhere into the distance, beyond the camera. Beady black eyes lurked behind heavy eyelids and bushy brows.
The sour taste of disappointment, mixing with the rich cherry flavor, made Slater want to spit. This didn’t look fun at all. He cocked his head, frowning. Anyone could do this job, why bother me with someone this weak and fuzzy? What did he do to deserve me?
He glanced at Talha, questioning his intentions, but his master was too busy to notice. Picking up the dossier, Slater scanned the paper, his mind photocopying everything he saw. A married businessman with three children and an innocent hobby of bringing underage kids into his private house. Boring…
“What did he do?” Slater folded the top sheet into a paper plane. Gliding his nail over the edges, he raised his hand and sent the plane toward Zaal, who sat in a deep black chair on the other side of the aisle. Broad and muscular, Talha’s Georgian bodyguard irritated Slater from the first moment they had met. He instantly sensed the weakness lurking behind his dead, immobile eyes. No weak person deserved to be by his master’s side. The paper plane hit Zaal’s chest, covered with a bullet-proof vest, then crashed on his thighs. Hand on a holster, the bigger man flinched. His tanned face tensed as he granted Slater a glare full of contempt.
“None of your business,” Talha replied in a calm voice. “And stop irritating Zaal. One day he’ll shoot you, and I won’t blame him for it.”
“Boring…” Slater complained, but even if Master heard him he didn’t show it.
Humming, Slater reached behind his back and fished out his karambit knife. A black matte claw landed into his palm like a natural extension of his hand. He flipped it forward, backward, then forward again; his gaze trained on Talha’s cool composure.
The atmosphere in the private cabin shifted. The discomfort coming from Zaal played on the strings of Slater’s soul. Fear—sour and potent—penetrated the air as Zaal squirmed in his chair. Slater tasted the bodyguard’s anxiety on his tongue, excitement quickening his blood. It would be so nice to paint the jet in red. Too bad Talha didn’t like it messy.
Slater landed his free palm on the table, walked his fingers toward the pile of scattered papers, and picked up the nearest photo. Something in the target irritated him, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. Grabbing the second page of the dossier, he glanced at the text. Except for keeping a money laundering firm and running a brothel, where he provided all kinds of treats for pedophiles and snuff lovers, the man was boring, harmless.
Not so boring, if Master activated me… Flipping the photo around his fingers, Slater stared at the picture. Annoying…
Concentration eluded him as his master’s neglect added to his irritation. Squeezing the handle, he stabbed the image with his knife to see if the sound would make Talha flinch. It didn’t.
Dissatisfied, Slater snatched his bag and pulled out his whetstone. The blade met the abrasive surface with a beautiful, nerve-wrenching screech, over and over again. Slater had never used guns; they were for women and weak people. He didn’t need one. His karambits were his claws, shades of night—his camouflage, and his entire body—the deadliest weapon evolution had ever created. Nothing on earth could chill the blood faster than a swish of a blade cutting through a silent night. Unless…
“Should I sharpen my teeth, Master? Wouldn’t that be cool?”
As the idea occurred, he faced the bodyguard, locking his eyes with the black, wide-set ones. The sour smell intensified, as tension built in Zaal’s big, meaty body with every move of his knife. The vein on Zaal’s neck trembled, and a thin layer of perspiration coated his forehead.
“No,” Talha said without looking up.
“Why not?” Slater’s aggressive attention returned to his master. Seconds ticking in his head, he studied Talha’s intelligent eyes scrolling through the paper but Master said nothing more. The caged agitation that he’d tried to suppress from the moment of his release now buzzed in every cell ready to discharge. One minute, two, Slater waited; when he grew tired, the blade met with the stone again. Falling into the trance the rhythmical sound provided, Slater didn’t notice a hand entering his private space, and the whetstone was snatched from his hand. Slater met his master’s warning gaze.
“Be quiet,” Talha ordered as his hand slipped the whetstone into the inner pocket of his beige jacket.
Slater loved his master’s timbre. Just like the sun-weathered face, Talha’s voice was dry, rough, entrancing. It never failed to make Slater hold his breath to taste his every word.
Using the moment, Slater complained, “I’m bored, Master…”<
br />
Talha glanced over the paper, and every small hair on Slater’s arms rose in anticipation.
“Master?”
“Are you done?” Talha spoke after a brief silence.
“Yes…”
“Did you memorize everything already?”
The soft words flowed through Slater’s system, making him crave the touch of fire and ice only his master could provide. “Yes.”
“Then watch clouds.”
“For four hours?” Slater almost choked on his saliva, but Talha’s focus had already abandoned him. The man lifted the paper, and Slater lost his patience. Flipping the blade in the air, he leaned over and sliced the thin paper from top to bottom. The long sheet fell apart in Talha’s hands, forcing the man to grant him his whole attention.
From the corner of his eye, Slater saw Zaal grabbing his gun. His finger eager to pull the trigger as a grin of excitement stretched his mouth. The black muzzle of the gun burned Slater’s temple, but he didn’t care. The tension compressed and sprung in his chest as the liquid amber of Talha’s eyes oozed into his soul. Heaving a sigh, Talha dismissed Zaal with a flick of his wrist, then folded the shredded paper in the middle.
“So needy... What do you want, Mutt?”
“Play with me…”
“No.” The sharp reply made Slater’s cheek twitch.
“I’m bored, Master. Play with me.” Irritation found its way into his voice alongside the demanding notes.
“No. I need you fit.” Not compromising, Talha glanced at his watch. “Entertain yourself. I have to work.”
“Fine…” Slater hissed.
Talha reached under his seat and pulled out the laptop. Slater’s focus slipped down but stumbled over the shirt. Too many pieces of clothing covered this muscular body for Slater’s liking. The desire to spoil Talha’s designer suit, so the man would strip, poisoned his blood.
His tennis shoe bumped against the black leather of the seat in front, as Slater spread his legs apart. The zipper vibrated against his groin, coming undone slot by slot a moment before he shimmed his ass out of his jeans and took his heavy cock into his palm. His gaze traveled up Talha’s smooth, square jaw to the hard line of his mouth. Five years older than Slater, Talha was broader, an inch taller, and a bit more muscular. At thirty-three, with his hair brushed back, he looked a couple of years older. His slightly arched brows and nose, broken in fights, enhanced his predatory aura.
